


A Learning Opportunity

by floweringjudas (manipulant)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:44:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manipulant/pseuds/floweringjudas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A potion goes awry, Percy and Oliver are turned into girls. Hijinx ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Learning Opportunity

It really _wasn't_ Oliver's fault. Really.

After all, _he_ couldn't help it that Angelina Johnson had decided to grow a pair of epic tits over the summer, could he? And _he_ couldn't stop her from wearing her school blouses with the first three buttons undone, especially in the early September humidity, could he?

And he couldn't help, y'know, staring. When he should've been paying more attention in Potions. And all right, obviously you see a fit bird, you're going to try to strike up a conversation - about the Quidditch tryouts, maybe, or how Snape's a right git - that's just _standard procedure_ , really. It was in his genetic makeup, and Oliver couldn't be held responsible for _that_.

...All right, probably he should've been paying more attention when Percy said to hand him the boomslang, but Percy _mumbles_ and there were Angelina's exquisite, exquisite _breasts_ not seven feet away from him and anyway Oliver'd always thought that dried flutterby leaves looked quite a lot like dried boomslang skin so it was a very easy mistake to make.

And it hadn't been very professional of Snape - sorry, _Professor_ Snape - to start laughing like that, once he'd found out what had caused the explosion. Anyway Oliver couldn't see how it was his fault and he'd already said he'd replace Percy's cauldron and, er, perhaps having Snape laugh at them like that was punishment _enough_?

 

Oliver stopped yammering, and looked hopefully up into the face of his Head of House. Standing between the two potion-soaked boys, McGonagall was careful to keep her expression guarded, though she couldn't help the twitches at the corners of her mouth before she spoke. "Contrary to popular belief, Master Wood, ogling a fellow housemate is _not_ considered a viable excuse for inadvertently destroying ten feet of laboratory space."

On the other side of her, Percy Weasley stiffened and stretched to give Oliver another glare. _Poor boy_ , Minerva thought to herself, wincing as she noticed how Percy's jaw and shoulders had already begun to lose a bit of their sharpness. "Professor Snape's suggested punishment stands. The two of you will endure the effects of the potion you created, I have his word it shouldn't last more than a fortnight."

"But Professor McGonagall, I didn't _do_ anything!" Percy burst out, unable to help a frustrated wriggle in his seat. "It wasn't my _fault_!"

"Had you been focusing on your potion as you should've you might have noticed that Wood had handed you the wrong ingredient," McGonagall said, a bit more gentle than she'd been with Wood (she was _allowed_ her favourites, damn it, and the boy deserved a bit of looking after since Molly and Arthur _would_ keep reproducing past all good sense). Beside her, Percy huffed and shot another baleful look at Oliver, folding his arms tightly. "And perhaps after this, the two of you won't be so easily distracted in your lessons, by the fairer sex. ...Stop sniggering, Wood, it's just a _word_ ," she snapped.

"Sorry, Professor," Oliver mumbled, making a show of contrition. McGonagall sighed and raised her eyes to the ceiling.

"Well. The two of you are excused from your afternoon lessons, you'll need to go upstairs and wash as soon as possible. I'm afraid your clothes will have to be discarded - the _school_ will provide for their replacements," she added quickly, noting the redness that suddenly burned across Percy's ears and neck. "Oh, and if. ...Well. If you find yourself in need of..." she cleared her throat, and Oliver would swear later he'd seen Old McGoogles _actually blush_ , "in need of...underthings not currently in your possession, allowances will be made there too."

Oliver blinked, and started to laugh again. "You mean _bras_?" he asked, relishing the quasi-dirty word. Percy shot him a horrified look, one that equaled Professor McGonagall's. "Bras! Brassieres!"

" _Shut up_ , you git," he hissed, reaching over enough to smack Oliver's thigh smartly with his wand. "That's what got us both into this mess in the _first_ place, maybe after you've gone around with a pair a few weeks you won't be so distracted during lessons."

"Sod that," Oliver said in an undertone, raising his eyebrows as realisation dawned. "If I have my own pair to look at, be damned if I'm going to lessons at _all_."

 

Day One

Cheeks still bright red, Percy frowned and stirred the coagulating oatmeal in his breakfast bowl, and tried to ignore how the twins were flicking bits of toast at him.

"Prissy Percy," Fred (or possibly George, Percy refused to look up enough to differentiate) singsonged teasingly, from across the table. "Always wanted to be Mum's little girl, and you finally got your wish, eh?"

"Shame she can't see you now, she'd have your hair in plaits and put you in a new pinafore." George (or Fred) chimed in.

"Oh, finally, a son to be proud of!" Fred (or George) warbled, clasping his hands, fork between them.

"Shut up," Percy muttered, finally stung into speaking. His voice was half an octave higher than it'd been just the day before, and he went even redder.

"Shut up!" George squeaked, mimicking.

"Yeah, _shut up_ ," Oliver butted in, as he squeezed his way onto the bench beside Percy. So far, Oliver's only concession to the radical changes to his body was wearing his bulkiest jumper, despite the early September heat. He reached for a stack of toast and the pitcher of pumpkin juice, as normal, and gave the twins a level stare. "Might want to think about going over Quidditch manoeuvres instead of bothering your brother, you two are still pants at defence tactics."

"Oi, we are not! That's slander!"

"'Sides, sometimes the best defence is a good offence!"

Oliver's eyes narrowed. Though his jawline had softened, his eyebrows were still the same, which made the expression somehow _more_ threatening. "We have a match in three weeks. Read up, or you're benched."

Once the twins had sulked themselves into silence, Percy turned and mouthed a _thank you_ in Oliver's direction. Beyond the curve of Oliver's shrugging shoulder, he was startled when another pair of eyes met his, from across the Great Hall. Frowning a bit, Percy looked back down at his oatmeal, wondering what he'd done to garner the attention of the Slytherin prefect, Bole.

 

Day Three

Oliver winced and fidgeted again, jostling Percy's elbow accidentally, sending a line of black ink skittering over Percy's otherwise perfect sheet of notes. Percy sighed and quickly _Evanesco_ ed the last line. "Stop squirming," he hissed under his breath, shifting to cross his legs under their table. Oliver considered commenting on how Percy crossed his legs like a girl now, but wisely refrained.

"I can't _help_ it," he hissed back instead, wincing as the unbrushed fabric of his button-down chafed over, erm...suddenly-very-sensitive skin. "How is this not driving you mad too?"

"How is _what_ not driving me mad?" Percy asked distractedly, scribbling down notes as Binns droned on in front of them.

"Your _shirt_. Brushing over your...you know," Oliver muttered, feeling his face heat. "How do girls stand this?"

"Ah," Percy murmured. He paused and bit the end of his quill thoughtfully. "I believe most of the girls wear...underthings that cut down on friction. ...At least, that's my understanding."

"Oh." Oliver paused. "...Are you wearing them?"

Pressing his lips together primly, Percy cleared his throat, and jotted down another note from Binns's lecture before responding, head inclined towards his parchment again. "Er, no."

"So how're you not fidgeting?"

"I, erm. ...It doesn't particularly _hurt_ , to me." Oliver could see the back of Percy's neck slowly going red. "...Rather the opposite, actually."

Oliver's eyes widened, and he had a sudden feeling of weightlessness in his stomach often associated with having one's horizons forcibly broadened.

 

Day Five

"You just _couldn't_ keep your mouth shut, could you?" Percy snarled, slamming his books onto his desk, making the legs of it wobble as he whirled around to glare at Oliver some more. "You couldn't leave well enough alone."

"They were _asking_ for it, you _heard_ what they said about Spinnet and if it'd been one of your brothers or one of your slapper Ravenclaw girlfr - "

"They're not slappers!"

"Yeah, cos that implies they've actually got blokes _looking_ \- "

Percy squawked and actually got out his wand at that, quickly _Accio_ -ing the small rug underneath Oliver's feet, sending him crashing onto the floor. Letting out a supremely unladylike bellow, Oliver scrambled to his feet and, since his wand was still in his satchel along with his books, lowered his still-broad shoulders and rugby-tackled Percy, sending them both sprawling onto the dormitory floor. The gratifying shriek Percy gave rattled the windowpanes, and Oliver'd only just managed to register the new slightness in the other boy's - well, technically _girl's_ \- waist and wrists before Percy reached down, unerringly managed to grab one of Oliver's newly-sensitive nipples, and _squeezed_.

...Ignoring Oliver's whimpering, Percy managed to crawl out from under him. He chose not to notice the rocking or the foetal position as he tugged off his Gryffindor tie and threw it at him, still fuming at Oliver's outburst, and at Snape's joint punishment, and at the audacity of the Hogwarts staff to _keep lumping him in_ with the idiot on the floor.

"SKIRTS, Oliver. YOU HEARD HIM. Now we have to wear SKIRTS."

 

Day Seven

Oliver raised an eyebrow and sulked a bit, but obligingly moved his books when Percy slid onto the bench beside him for lunch. Percy winced and rearranged the material of one of the skirts McGonagall had transfigured for him (she'd done the same for Oliver, barely containing her laughter) so it stayed between him and the wood of the bench. Oliver rolled his eyes at the fussiness, and then rolled his eyes again as Percy crossed his legs almost daintily, and then rolled his eyes _again_ as Percy gently nudged Oliver's legs closed, under the table.

Skirts were bloody irritating.

...Didn't help that Percy's legs looked so much better than his own, in them. Oliver's cheeks flamed as he remembered fussing over the knee socks that morning, and Percy having to show him the depilatory charms he'd looked up the night before, and the white flash of thigh he'd seen as Percy'd sat down in Ancient Runes.

Frankly, Oliver's head hurt from trying to sort his predicament through. Fancying a girl with great legs was one thing, he was quite at home with _that_ , but circumstances being what they were, Oliver was afraid of fancying another girl openly while he _was_ one. Especially since he didn't look a thing like any of the girls in his skin-mags that were into kissing each other. They were the _good_ kind of lesbian, he thought - long hair and lots of makeup and a bit tarty and probably they'd let a bloke watch.

Oliver, however, was still built like a block, had short hair and powerful thighs, and looked less like his name was _Bambi_ and more like his name was _Frau Blucher_.

...And bloody Percy with his bloody willowy legs was sitting _be-bloody-side_ him, probably to look _prettier_ in contrast, and Oliver was a bit afraid that thinking his usually-male dormmate had epic legs and sweet little perky breasts didn't make him so much a dyke as a pouf. Because it was _Percy_.

Except none of that mattered because Percy was _pretty_ and he, Oliver, was not.

Oliver pressed his lips tight together, stared furiously down at his soup, and felt for the first time since first year that he really wanted to cry.

...He bloody _hated_ mood swings.

Almost as much as he hated bloody _skirts_.

 

Day Eight

Percy sighed and stretched, back arching and popping in a few places before he went back to reading over his History of Magic book. From the other side of the dormitory, Oliver watched the rise and fall of his chest covertly, playbook open on his lap. "...You're lucky yours are so little, underwires are a pain in the arse," he found himself saying a moment later.

"Hmm?" Percy glanced over at him, one hand running through his hair, and gave him a small smile, cheeks reddening. "Oh. ...Well, I don't know, they're so small and I'm taller than everyone, I think I end up looking like a drag queen."

"Yur right. Don't think Marcus sodding Flint would offer to carry the books of a drag queen, Perce," Oliver teased, enjoying the pout Percy gave him.

"You never know, he offered to carry the books of someone he _knows_ is a boy, really."

"Well, you _are_ bloody gorgeous, probably his head was clouded."

Percy beamed, ankles twisting around the legs of his desk chair. "M'not. Anyway, it's _Flint_ , it's possible he thought I was a new student, I think he's had twelve concussions in the past two terms alone."

"He'll have another, if he keeps leering at you during mealtimes," Oliver muttered, frowning a bit.

"Protecting my virtue, Wood?" Percy asked, amused. He twisted in his chair, enough to face Oliver, enough to squash his breasts against the ladderback chair, giving more of an illusion of cleavage. Oliver couldn't help looking. "...I'm up here."

Oliver grinned, blushing a little, going back to his playbook for a moment. "Sorry. Old habits, and all."

"...Well, they _are_ fun, aren't they?" Percy said after a few seconds' pause, giving a little crooked grin that Oliver really shouldn't've found so appealing. "Do yours get hard when it's cold?"

Oliver let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and nodded. "Yeah. Bloody fast, too. ...And sometimes during lessons, for no reason." He glanced over at Percy, who nodded and bit his lip.

"Mine too. The shirt scratches them a bit, it's like..." he paused, having to think of an accurate description. "For the sake of comparison, I'm not trying to be vulgar - it's a bit like rubbing against your mattress, first thing in the morning. You know?"

"Yeah. Not enough to get you in a bad way, but...interesting." Oliver decided not to mention how his nipples felt diamond-hard, underneath his Hogwarts-issue bra and Quidditch jumper.

"Yes. Precisely."

Oliver thought of something suddenly. "Ever felt a pair, other than - ?" he gestured towards the front of Percy's chest.

"Oh, ah, no. You?"

"Nah. Almost got there with Alicia over the summer, but she belted me one and called me a pig."

"Well, you are," Percy said, though his eyes were dark and merry behind his glasses. Oliver sucked in a breath as he realised, suddenly, that he was _flirting_ with _Percy_ , and then he realised that he didn't much mind. He wasn't really sure which of those were weirder, but it was fun and comfortable and a bit, well, _exciting_ , so he didn't see the harm in continuing.

"Well, you love it. They're hard under your shirt, I can see them," Oliver shot back, smirking a little.

Giggling a little, Percy recovered and smirked back. "Obviously it's all for you," he drawled.

Oliver's smirk faltered, and he flushed oddly, swallowing. He _knew_ that shouldn't've been hot, it really _shouldn't_ have. "...Yeah, I'll bet, you tart. All that talk about friction and involuntary reactions and really you just wanted someone to put his hand up your shirt, didn't you." For some reason, he couldn't quite make his voice as teasing as he wanted.

Percy choked, flushing too. "Yes, well, if you know of someone who'd actually know his way around a pair, do let me know," he murmured, and Oliver couldn't tell whether that was an insult or a deliberate clue.

"...Shit," Oliver muttered, after a sharp inhale. "Look, d'you want to?" he asked, suddenly unable to keep up with the flirting (and no way was he actually flirting with Percy, this was _too weird_ ), since all the blood had rushed straight from his head, and between his legs was beginning to get a bit tingly. "Because I don't know about you, but I've got no bloody clue how to work this set of parts but I'd like to learn, and your legs are gorgeous and frankly it's been a week since I've wanked and I'm horny as hell."

Percy gaped for a few seconds, then started giggling again (if Oliver didn't know better, he'd think Percy was sort of _enjoying_ playing up the girl-angle). "Romance is officially dead. I've no clue what to do either, but - well, it would be a bit stupid to let such a learning opportunity pass by, right?"

"Right, yes, absolutely. Learning opportunity. Get your shirt off," Oliver grinned, setting the playbook aside and getting up, moving over to Percy's side of the room. Wide-eyed, Percy watched him approach before he snapped into movement and began undoing the buttons to his oxford shirt, standing as well. Percy gave Oliver a wary look, then exhaled approvingly as he helped to untuck his shirt, undoing the last two buttons and letting Oliver push the fabric off his shoulders.

Oliver blinked, and had to bring a hand down to cup one of the breasts, thumb rolling gently over one hard nipple, relishing the warmth and softness of Percy's skin and the small gasp Percy gave. He smiled crookedly. "Good?"

"Well, obviously," Percy said tightly, eyes closing despite himself as he arched into the touch. "Not just the nipple, touch - oh, that's nice," he breathed, as Oliver traced his fingers down to the crease of skin, then up to his clavicle. "Mmm. Both hands?"

Oliver considered the suggestion, then smirked and ducked down, using the difference in their heights to his own advantage as he swiped his tongue over the small salmon-coloured peak, relishing the startled squeak Percy gave. There were hands in his hair suddenly, and Percy's skin tasted really _good_ , and the growing wetness between his legs was beginning to give him a better idea of how this all worked, when Percy's knees gave at a suck and they both tumbled onto his bed.

 

Day Nine

It was embarrassing, how easily Percy'd managed to find Oliver's clit, given that Oliver had spent about ten minutes fumbling around down there the night before. Not that they hadn't been ten _fun_ minutes, and not that Oliver hadn't considered them worth it, to see Percy freeze and then wrack like he had, but still. Pretty bloody embarrassing.

Not that Oliver could really be arsed to care, since Percy's being a quick study meant that he was quickly ramping up towards what was either the biggest orgasm in the history of mankind or his heart and lungs were about to explode. Or both. Oliver really had no idea how girls could _do_ this - not only did it take for-fucking-ever, but it was so _big_ and intense and kinda scary and it was - oh.

Oh _fuck_.

Oh _jesus_ , jesusfuck, jesus _fucking_ god it was the best thing _ever_ and if he could just - just a _bit_ more - just, oh _right_ there just ohgod Perce don't stop don't stop don'tstop _don'tstop don't_ -

 

Day Ten

They'd mutually decided to skip lunch in favour of more sex, and Percy nearly bucked them both off the bed as he came. Oliver was a little concerned at how addicted he was getting to the noises Percy made while Oliver was getting him off: little squeaks and whimpers and whines while he tugged on Oliver's short hair.

Afterwards, Percy gave him an exhausted grin and propped up on his elbows, high enough to slide his pink tongue along the seam of Oliver's bra, over his skin. "Gngh," Oliver said helpfully, and rolled over onto his back, on the thoroughly unmade bed. Pleased, Percy scrambled up to hover over Oliver, unhook his bra and undo his shirt and unzip his skirt til Percy could see all of him for once. Going red, Oliver squelched a sudden insecure urge to tug the bedsheets up to his neck, and made himself lie there quietly.

Slowly, Percy leaned down and began to lick a trail from Oliver's neck to his breastbone, swirling over a nipple, mapping out shivery places on his chest and stomach til there was a tongue dipping in his navel and Oliver began to see where this was going. Eyelids fluttering at the thoughts and images that flashed through his mind, Oliver arched his back and forgot to be embarrassed or weird, and concentrated instead on the heat and wet of Percy's breath, on the stutter of his own breathing as he felt long fingers worm inside him, on the explosively bright feeling of coming with Percy's tongue flickering quickly against his clit.

Raw, Oliver shuddered for a while after, and let Percy wrap arms around him snugly til they had to get dressed again and go up to Astronomy. Percy brushed his fingers against Oliver's half a dozen times during lecture, and Oliver let him do that too, strangely quiet as he listened to Professor Sinistra talk about constellations and Fate and the stars.

 

Day Twelve

Marcus Flint had green boils spreading on the side of his face, and Oliver had a radish for a nose, and two suits of armor had been severely dented by the time any professors managed to fight their way through the press of students to get to where the two were duelling in the hallway. Mostly it was the older students who were forming a protective circle around the two boys, keeping the lower forms from being blasted with an errant hex, but that meant that Professors Snape and Sprout had to immobilise about two dozen seventh-years before they could even get to where the hexes were coming from.

Of course, Marcus had managed to get one last shot off underneath Snape's arm, which knocked Oliver out cold. Luckily, this kept Oliver from receiving the brunt of the professors' wrath, and he was packed away to the Hospital Wing while Flint was interrogated there in the hallway.

A scowling Percy Weasley was shoved forward as an eyewitness, and, grudgingly, muttered that Flint might've got a bit grabby while everyone was trying to get to their next lesson, and that Oliver saw. His response to Snape's recommendation that Percy not wear his skirts so short didn't go over well, but it did make Professors McGonagall and Sprout and Sinistra smirk in the staff room later that evening.

It also landed Percy his first (and only) detention of his entire Hogwarts career. Oliver tsked when he heard, that evening, and gave Percy a rueful smile. "Your perfect reputation, gone," he sighed, mock-heavy.

"Obviously I'm turning to a lifetime of depravity and crime," Percy replied, giving him a wry smile. "...Some of those hexes you used were quite advanced, how'd you learn them?"

Oliver smirked. "Lots of older cousins. It was kill or be killed, at family Christmases. What'd you say to Snape, anyway?"

Percy blushed, and waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, something about recommending he pay more attention to the behaviour of his students than their legs, especially since he'd ordered me to have mine on display. ...Didn't take it too well."

Oliver smirked. "Can't imagine why."

"Well, obviously because I broke his heart."

They both grinned, and Percy traced a fingertip over the design of the thin bedcover, and tilted his head a little, giving Oliver an oddly pensive look. Oliver raised his eyebrows. "Everything all right?" he asked, breathing going a bit shallow as he realised Percy was certainly looking at his _lips_ a lot.

Percy blinked, and glanced down at his lips again, and nodded after a second's pause. "Ah, yes. ...Sorry, I should be getting back, someone'll come looking for me. I'll come in the morning, Pomfrey said you'd be getting out then."

Oddly disappointed, Oliver nodded and stretched. "Sounds all right. Night, Perce."

Percy stood, and reached to squeeze his knee. "'Night, Oliver. ...Thanks, also."

"Yeah, somebody's got to protect your reputation," Oliver smirked, and closed his eyes. He managed to count to ten after he heard the door snick closed, before he opened them again. He stared up at the ceiling for a long while, thinking, before he managed to fall asleep.

 

Day Thirteen

It was a Friday, thank Merlin, which meant no lessons after lunch, which meant Oliver could get a nap in before Percy came back from his Muggle lessons. The weather was turning cooler, which was a mercy, and that weekend he'd be conducting a Quidditch training marathon and trying to catch up on essays and he'd have a prick again.

And that meant no more bloody skirts, which was an unequivocally good thing, but it also meant no more learning opportunity with Percy, which was decidedly less unequivocal. Oliver wasn't exactly sure how to wrap his head around the changes of the past two weeks, but a few of them were set to end in the morning, and he wasn't sure which would make that a good thing and which he'd rather keep.

Flumping back onto his pillow, Oliver scowled and curled in on his side and tried to get to sleep. He almost managed it, too, before Percy came back from his lesson. The door opened and closed, and Oliver turned to his other side, to face him, and the two of them gazed at each other for a moment before Percy set his books and his bag down and came to stretch out on the little bed beside Oliver, silent, eyes big and dark behind his glasses.

Oliver couldn't've explained it if he tried, but the way they touched each other then - knee against knee, noses and foreheads almost touching, hands ghosting over ribcages and sides - was solemn and _sad_ , and slow. Shivering, Percy pressed his cheek against Oliver's, and eventually slipped a hand under his skirt, needing to drag the situation back into familiar, purely carnal territory. Oliver helped - he spelled the mirror from his wardrobe to hover over the bed, to show the two of them in a startlingly symmetrical position on the little bed, hands under skirts, knees and breasts pressed together.

It took them a while to get started, but eventually, when they began to shiver and writhe, Oliver felt it safer to push more - he pressed his open lips against Percy's cheek, breath hot and condensing on his cheek, making him shudder. Curling in, Percy tilted his head, mouth coming dangerously close to the corner of Oliver's lips as they both kept their eyes closed tight - Percy so he wouldn't have to see them in the mirror, Oliver so he wouldn't have to see them both ignoring the mirror.

Percy came first, arching against Oliver, the finger just inside him shaking. A minute later, Oliver followed, gasping in lungfuls of air like he was in danger of drowning. They slept there for a bit, after, and then went down to dinner. Afterwards, they came up to the Common Room, and Percy pretended to study for a bit while Oliver watched the twins cheat at Exploding Snap.

When they went back up to bed, they both crawled into Percy's without discussion. Oliver curled around him protectively, and Percy kept tight hold of the arm around his middle, and both of them pretended that they were asleep long before they actually managed to drift into unconsciousness.

 

Day Fourteen

When Oliver opened his eyes the next morning, he nearly jumped out of his skin - a foot away, Percy was gazing at him intently, like he was contemplating the merits of cannibalisation or trying to bore holes into his skull with his eyes. " _Jesus_ , Perce, what's wrong with you?" he squawked, and promptly squawked again, because his voice was back to its old baritone. Moreover, Percy's shoulders and jawline were back, and his bony elbows, and Oliver's cumbersome breasts were gone (thank fuck - those'd been more back pain than they were worth).

"Nothing's _wrong_ with me," Percy replied, and pouted a little, which was weirdly reminiscent of the time he'd spent as a girl. For a moment, Oliver wondered if Percy'd keep crossing his legs the same way, or use the same little hand gestures he'd picked up in the past two weeks, and he broke into a grin. "What?" Percy asked, almost cross.

"Nothing. 'Morning," he said easily, stretching his arms above his head, toes curling in the sheets.

"Mm," Percy said noncommittally, and fixed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose after a moment of rummaging. "'Morning," he replied once he could see Oliver properly, and then he promptly leaned in and pressed their lips together, an arm snaking around Oliver's unguarded waist, pulling him in tight. For his part, Oliver squeaked, his eyes flying open wide for a second before Percy's tongue slipped along the crease of his lips and he found himself sighing into the kiss, not caring about morning breath or bed hair or drool or any of it.

After a good minute, Percy finally let them both up for air, and they panted faintly, red-cheeked, beginning to grin at each other as the hesitance and the sadness of the day before vanished in the morning sunlight. "Merlin," Oliver murmured, pressing the cool tip of his nose against Percy's cheek, enjoying the little yelp the other boy gave. "Couldn't just stop at making us lesbians, now we have to be poufs as well?"

Percy snorted, and lipped along Oliver's square jawline. "Consider it another learning opportunity."


End file.
